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The Carriage
On steady path, with smooth a sail
the rushing land below,
and I, myself, and children three
on steel, stone and sow.
the haltered march in steady beat
put onward—though with speed—
and I, myself, alert and well
did not, myself, take heed.
The breeze—a more than steady gale—
did penetrate my guile.
I firmly stood on lever,
firmly passing mile for mile.
But lo, the drifting was unsteady,
striking me—I was not ready—
shoving ebb and turning eddy;
—I was unprepared—
In subtle shock, in graceless sway
I’m pulled apart from wheel,
and time belonging not to me
re-writes a brand-new deal.
The world turning all around;
the deafness of our screams.
And I, myself, lost consciousness;
the world—lost in beams.
The roll, the pitch—we lost our sail—
a flail over green.
And through the crystal cell did soar
my smallest through the mean.
When now, the trap begins to narrow,
ending flight—still constant barrel—
black beast grinds relentless peril.
—I was unprepared—
When pause—the silence—just a tick
but flailing over hours.
And I, myself, am lost amidst
—O silence!—bodies ours.
O lights, do flash and sparkle so,
so ever gallop near.
And I, myself, am drifting out
and waltzing—O how dear!—
They stop me, hold me down—dear Lord!—
so fast, the new approach!
And o’er the shifting plain—what horror!—
fills me—Look, the coach!—
This desolation without sake,
my pride, too full—O what mistake!—
What left unsaid; I ne’er can take
for I was unprepared.
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